


All You Have Is Your Fire

by DaisyDewDr0p



Series: Geraskier Week 2020 [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Geraskier Week 2020, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:28:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22729921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaisyDewDr0p/pseuds/DaisyDewDr0p
Summary: It was common knowledge that witchers did not possess souls and as such didn't have soulmates. What was not common knowledge; however, was that a humans soulmate could be a witcher. It just seemed cruel, in truth, that destiny had cursed him in this way, doomed to burn for all eternity for a man who could never burn for him in return.Or, everyone has a mark on their chest that burns hotter or colder depending on your proximity to your soulmate.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Geraskier Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634461
Comments: 20
Kudos: 427





	All You Have Is Your Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever (published) fanfiction, please be gentle with me OTL  
> Also no beta, we die like men (I ran it through grammarly a few times though)

When he woke up that morning, Jaskier hadn't expected to meet his soulmate. The mark on his chest didn't feel any warmer than it usually did. Nor, however, did it feel any colder. He had thought it would be just another day spent much the same as the last.

He was singing away to yet another unappreciative crowd in the hope that they would toss him some coin. Or throw some of their food at him. He had to eat somehow, and while the idea of being a starving artist had seemed fun at first, the reality was anything but. Starvation was not fun. But with little to no coin to speak of, Jaskier had had to get creative.

Over time he'd learnt that the best thing to do was sing about caustic topics just loud enough to annoy people into throwing their food at him. However, he was careful not annoy them too much lest they cause him any actual physical harm. It had taken some trial and error to find the right balance, but he'd got there eventually.

He didn't notice his mark heating up at first, putting the slowly increasing warmth down to the vigors of performing. However, by the time he'd reached the crowds breaking point with a song about abortions, his chest felt like it was on fire.

As he sets about gathering up the thrown bread, he casts a look about the room, trying to work out who his soulmate might be. As soon as he sees the brooding stranger in the corner, he knows that he is the one, the fire in his heart spreading across his whole chest now.

He drinks in the sight of him, the way he sits back in his chair in an attempt to stay out of the sunlight filtering through the small window, to not be noticed. Occasionally he'll shift, and he'll lean forward just enough that the sunlight will catch in his white hair, making it shine like polished silver. 

Before his brain can catch up, he's on his feet moving across the tavern floor, pausing only long enough to snag a drink off a passing woman's tray. With every step closer to the stranger, the heat in his chest grows hotter and hotter. Finally, it's all too much, and he comes to a stop just short of the table where the stranger is sitting.

"I love the way you just, sit in the corner and brood," he says, leaning against a pillar and allowing the first thing that comes to mind slip out. The pain in his chest is by now too distracting for his usual eloquence. The man barely spares him a glance before turning his head towards the window and muttering,

"I'm here to drink alone." And as much as that's all well and good, it's not exactly the sort of thing you say to your soulmate upon first meeting, distracted by pain or not. Jaskier thinks perhaps he was standing too far away. He knew how much pain people felt differed from case to case. His mother had told him that she thought she had burst into flames just from seeing his father across the ballroom. His father had said to him that he didn't feel any intense heat from his mark until he was standing face to face with his mother.

With this knowledge in mind, he pushed passed the inferno raging in his chest and moved closer still to the stranger. He keeps talking as he walks, something about commenting on his performance and having bread in his pants.

"You must have some review for me, three words or less." He's sat at the strangers' table now. It feels like the sun has fallen from the heavens and embedded itself in his chest, white-hot pain radiating from the mark just above his heart, almost unbearable. The stranger, however, has a look of complete disinterest on his face as he gives his review;

"they don't exist," and Jaskier knows something is very, very wrong. At this proximity, the stranger should be feeling some warmth in his chest, even if it doesn't entirely match the fire in Jaskiers' which threatens to burn him up from the inside. Either the stranger has the perfect poker face, or he feels nothing at all. Jaskier isn't sure which is worse.

He continues talking, arguing back with the stranger. He hopes, somewhat in vain, that if he keeps him here long enough that the strangers' perfect poker face will finally crack. And that he'll eventually show that he too feels seconds away from being turned to nothing but a pile of ash, much in the same way Jaskier does. But he never does.

The longer he sits and stares at the stranger, the more details Jaskier takes in. He'd already taken note of the man's white hair, but now he was this close he could also see his other-worldly yellow eyes, not too dissimilar from a cats eyes. Adding this together with the sitting alone, trying not to be noticed and the two terrifying swords propped against the wall just behind the man, and suddenly everything clicked in to place. Ice cold dread settled in Jaskiers stomach, which did nothing to ease the fire in his chest that threatened to consume him.

"Oh fun," Jaskier said, not having fun at all, "white hair, big old loner, two very scary looking swords, I know who you are." Geralt of Rivia, The Butcher of Blaviken. His soulmate was a witcher.

It was common knowledge that witchers did not possess souls and as such didn't have soulmates. What was not common knowledge; however, was that a humans soulmate could be a witcher. It just seemed cruel, in truth, that destiny had cursed him in this way, doomed to burn for all eternity for a man who could never burn for him in return.

Jaskier sighed internally, watching as the man got up to leave. He had two choices; he could let him walk away, let the fire in his heart dull away and turn instead to ice, or he could go after him and risk turning to nothing but ash. He sighs externally this time, knowing that ultimately only one of his options would bring him any joy.

He gets up to collect his lute from the other side of the tavern where he left it. As he crosses the room, he hears one of the young men who threw bread at him proposition Geralt to take care of a devil that's stealing the village crops.

"You take no prisoners, so I hear." Jaskier notices the barely-there look of sadness on Geralt's face as the young man says this and he knows. He knows that he would gladly risk burning alive to stay by Geralt's side.

After all, some people are worth burning for.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated :)  
> I may add a chapter with Geralts side of things at a later date who knows


End file.
